When the Love of Many Grow Cold
by thegreenwonder
Summary: Occurs after Day of Reckoning Pt 2. The Friends of Humanity have taken over, and a troubled young man is forced to make a decision between the two sides of war. This is fairly original, so if you want fresh, then check this out.
1. Chapter 1: The Friends of Humanity

He wanted to join because football season had just finished, and he had nothing better to do. He wanted to join because they wore cool army uniforms, and he thought he'd look good in them. It was all for fun, something to pass the long afternoons, something to keep him busy when he had spare time. He never even considered the idea that it could affect his life. He never would have thought that it could change his way of life. It was absurd, crazy. And he didn't think too much of it. Maybe things would have been different if he had, but it was too late now. Five years had gone, and everything had changed.

They were everywhere. You could see them on billboards, newspapers, magazines, posters. They had advertisements running on almost every single channel on TV, and their commercials could be heard on every radio station. They were as common as smoking ads in the eighties, and anti-smoking ads today. Its benefactors spared no expense.

They made sure everyone knew what the letters FOH meant: The Friends of Humanity.

At the impressive age of twenty-three, he had already managed to rise up the lower ranks and receive the privilege of commanding his own team. He joined the FOH organization when he was eighteen, a young man of great potential. Star quarterback, rich as hell, and drop-dead gorgeous, he was labeled the most popular guy in high school. He was charming, and he was able to sneak out –or rather, charm his way out- of trouble more than once.

He was considered one of the best in the entire organization, and that was the reason he arranged this meeting tonight. He was the one who should have received that one particular assignment, not the incompetent fellow who was now somewhere planning the raid in Boston. He should be the one doing that, he thought, and since he was not, that mission would be a failure. He'd make sure of it.

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The warehouse was located near the pier. It was dark inside, and true to the clichés abundant in Hollywood films, it was abandoned for the time-being, perfect for secret, suspicious meetings like this. As he got out of the car and stepped inside the wooden building, he began to have doubts. What if she decided not to come? What if she never received the message he had worked so hard to send?

He breathed in a musky stench and grimaced; he wasn't exactly a man of the sea. There was not a single light on, but he continued to move forward, his eyes alert for any movement. Scarce moonlight snuck in through the high square windows, showing him a clear path. Huge wooden crates filled with who-knows-what were stacked to the right and left of him. After a few minutes, he stopped. He was losing his patience, and with his right hand, started to reach for the flashlight that was strapped onto his waist. One of the lights that hung from the ceiling immediately switched on, blinding him for a short moment and causing him to raise his hands up to his face.

"No need for that," a soft, feminine voice said aloud, referring to the flashlight.

At the sound of her voice, he immediately reached for the gun attached to his belt.

"No need for that, either," the voice said again with a hint of sarcasm, as his hand missed the gun that suddenly flew off from his holster. With a grunt, he clenched his fist. He was at a disadvantage. Well, at least she showed up, right?

He finally opened his eyes, and there she was, clad in her own sleek uniform: a black bodysuit with an emerald green triangle down the middle of her torso. Five years had been good to her, he thought, as he gazed at the woman who stood a few feet from him.

She had appeared out of nowhere. She looked at him with wary eyes, though curiosity shone through. Her perfect chin was slightly lifted, showing a way of superiority.

As he surveyed her, hundreds of questions popped into his head, thoughts that had begun to plague him since the night before. _How've you been? Is it really true you can read minds? Did you come alone? Where the girl I sent to you? _

"How?" she asked abruptly, breaking him away from his thoughts. He knew perfectly well what she meant, but he decided to take his time answering as he studied her. It had been a while since he last saw her, after all.

"How?" he repeated, cocking his head. "Five years, and that's how you greet me?"

Her face remained stoic, although he could have sworn he saw the smallest of smiles.

"Okay," he muttered. _Fine. _"Well, let's see... oh, right. Exactly eight days ago, my team was able to catch two feisty little mu—_tants_. One could turn invisible and the other, well, the other one just looked like a freak. The two girls were about twelve years old, I think, and well, I made a little deal with one of them, the one who could turn invisible." He paused. He had almost said _muties_, a very offending nickname to people with the X-gene. He looked at her. She showed no reaction and stared back, waiting for him to continue. "I knew she'd be able to find you, contact you. Either that or you would find her. I told her I'd set her friend free if she did a little errand for me. She agreed, and the rest is history," he finished.

"I see." Except for her rosy lips, no other part of her body moved. "And why did you want to see me? Unless of course _this _is a trap," she added with a smirk.

"No, this isn't a trap. I came alone, Jean."

In reply, she pursed her lips stubbornly. Just get on with it.

He sighed. "I came to tell you that your bunch of friends up in Boston have been discovered. A raid's already been scheduled to take care of the mutant group sighted up north."

"What are you talking about?" Jean asked icily.

He stared at her. "So this is how you want to play it?" He did an about-face, and shook his head, as if pitying her. "Make sure you know what you're doing... but for the love of God, I hope you at least tell your little friends to be more careful, if not evacuate the whole damn city for the next few weeks."

He managed to take a few steps before hearing her voice again.

"Wait."

He turned around. "Yeah?"

"It just doesn't make any sense," she said, her face showing emotion for the first time. "Why did you tell me all that information?"

_Because that assignment should've been given to me, not that idiot Larkin, _he thought fiercely, though his face showed no expression.

"Isn't it enough that I did?" he asked instead.

She rolled her eyes. It wasn't the reply she was looking for. "And am I supposed to believe you just like that?"

"No. I guess not," he said slowly. Suddenly, a devilish smile appeared on his lips. "But you're welcome to read my mind if you want."

Jean narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "No thanks," she replied. "But I swear, if I find out you're lying to me, I'm going to make sure you regret this."

He smiled. He couldn't help but remember the last time she said that to him. It was right after school, and they were standing by the lockers in the crowded hallway...

"_You have to be there. It's our last game of the season! And you know, ever since we started going out, I've never missed any one of _your _games."_

"_Don't worry, I'll be there, alright? And besides, it says here that it'll only last about an hour or so," he said, holding up the yellow flier. He then glanced at his golden Rolex. "And we have exactly an hour and thirty-six minutes before the game starts."_

"_Fine, fine. But I swear, if you're not there, I am going to make sure you regret it, Duncan Matthews."_

_He merely grinned in reply._

Good times? Probably. He remembered driving her back to the Xavier Institute later that night, after the exciting game, and he never thought it possible that it would be the last time he'd see her face to face. Well, until now, that is.

It was that same day he joined the Friends of Humanity, a local association that had just started, dedicated to protecting the surrounding community from harmful and dangerous people that lurked in the streets. In five short years it had grown into a worldwide organization, rich and powerful with thousands of soldiers armed with high-tech weaponry. Its main purpose was to apprehend all mutants in hiding, so they would then be sent to a small prison island called Genosha where they would be forced to stay until someone was able to discover a way to 'fix' the mutant problem.

The Friends of Humanity brought a gap wider than the sea between the couple, with the only reason being Jean was a mutant and he was not.

The next day he watched in disbelief as footage of her and her other friends _fighting _a gigantic red robot was shown on TV. He didn't know what to think then.

She was a telepath and a telekinetic. He knew it for a fact after reading her file in the organization's computer database. A person who read and control minds... but he knew her, knew her to be an honest, kind, genuine person. She wouldn't do anything to him now... would she?

"Duncan..."

He forced the crazy thoughts out of his head and stared at the redhead before him. She looked slightly worried... maybe even concerned...

"Did you hear me?"

"I heard you, Jean. Just trust me, okay?" He suddenly sounded tired, and it surprised them both. "Just... trust me."

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He drove home with the radio blasting rock songs, though the guitar riffs and loud banging of drums amounted to nothing more than a low hum in the back of his mind. The major part of his brain was focused on what had just happened earlier that night. He had met Jean Grey. Or rather, he had _met up_ with Jean Grey. After five years, he was able to see her lovely face again.

_"Okay, okay. Let's say I do trust you," Jean said, looking straight at him. "What's the catch?"_

_He shrugged and casually glanced at his watch. "Just trust me, alright? Anyway, I gotta go. Gotta release the other mutant kid, you know, and all that stuff," he said, turning around to the direction where he came from. He started to walk away, when he suddenly felt a sharp gust of wind by his ear, like something had just zoomed past him. He stopped, and saw his gun floating in front of him, inches from his nose. Carefully, he took it from mid-air._

_"Thank—" he turned around, "you."_

_He blinked. Jean was gone._

Seeing Jean again brought the memories flooding back. There was just no conceivable way of blocking the past. He recalled how he always felt like he was on top of the world when he was with her, how he always felt like showing her off... because to him, Jean was perfect.

He was so sure that he and Jean would be pronounced Prom King and Queen. But Jean disappeared halfway-through their senior year, when mutants were discovered roaming the world, pretending to be normal humans.

Duncan gave a lopsided smile as he stopped at a red light. The bad part of this entire recollecting moment was that it also made the feelings he buried deep within resurface.

The memory of how it felt like every time he saw Jean walking with Scott Summers was unbearable. They looked like they knew each other inside out. They were the best of friends, and it seemed like every time Duncan caught a glimpse of Jean with Scott, she always had a smile on her face. It wasn't that he didn't want Jean to be happy. No, that idea was absurd. He truly did want Jean to be happy... but with him.

It was very obvious that Scott wanted to be more than friends, but the question was, did Jean?

Duncan remembered how he constantly had to remind himself that if Jean did like the guy that way, then why was she going out with _him _instead of Scott?

But he knew better. And it always made him feel insecure about the whole thing.

Not to mention the fact that the two lived under the same goddamned roof.

Duncan parked the car in the expansive driveway, and when he got inside the house, he immediately went straight to his bedroom. It was the same house that he grew up in, only now, he lived alone. It was a nice, expensive house. There was a fancy pool in the backyard, just below the balcony. The living room was spacious, big enough so that he even had a ping pong table placed at the center.

His parents decided to move away to London ever since the mutant issue became more serious. Duncan told them that mutants were everywhere, even in Europe. Yes, they replied, but they're scarcer over there, unlike here. And that made it safer somewhat.

They tried their best to persuade him to come with them. But he wouldn't budge. His mind was decided, and he was staying here. He finished high school with a football scholarship, but he never went to college. He pursued his life with the Friends of Humanity.

At the early days of his membership, he had heavily considered quitting. After all, his girlfriend was a damned mutant. But when weeks passed by and he heard nothing from her, not even a single phone call, he tried his best to forget her. If he didn't mean anything to her, then she wouldn't mean anything to him.

Duncan didn't bother switching on the lights as he kicked off his boots and collapsed onto the bed, completely worn out. He glanced at the neon green numbers of his alarm clock. It was almost two in the morning, and he groaned against the pillow. He'd have to get up at five since he didn't want to be late in the office. Plus early traffic...

Three hours of sleep wasn't going to be enough, he thought wearily as he closed his eyes, and almost immediately drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

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"Where've you been, Matthews?" Casey Larkin asked in a gruff voice, though he was grinning. He was bigger than Duncan, and his body was heavy like a professional football player's.

_I could have been a pro football player_, Duncan suddenly thought out of the blue. He was in great shape; and that was one advantage of being a soldier. But his body was a lot leaner now, less bulkier. He'd have to gain a lot more weight, practice the game, hire a trainer...

It had been a while since he last threw a football.

Both men wore what they usually wore: a dark blue army-like uniform, complete with a black bullet-proof vest and heavy boots. At their belted waists hung guns, ammunition, flashlights, keys...

They were inside an elevator at the FOH building branched in New York. It was one of hundreds set up across the United States and some parts of the world. Stopping at the 128th floor, they had a nice view of Manhattan through the glass windows.

"Anything new?" Duncan asked, ignoring the other man's question as they got out of the elevator.

"Nope," Larkin replied. "Except for _my _assignment in Boston, nothing's happening."

"Right. Good luck on that."

"Yeah, thanks. I'll need it," he said.

_Damn right you will._

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It was Sunday night. He was watching television, but he wasn't seeing any of it. Duncan's meeting with Jean Grey occurred exactly four days ago, and the event still troubled his mind. A twenty-three year old guy sitting alone in front of the TV on a Sunday night doing nothing. One could see it as pathetic...

The room was dark since the only light came from the television. The audio volume was low, and with a bored sigh, Duncan changed the channel again for the umpteenth time. There were only so many times he could stand Ross and Rachel break up and make up…

Suddenly, he heard a strange sound —like a lock being _unlocked_. The double glass doors that led to the balcony immediately slid open shortly after, and this made Duncan Matthews jump from the couch with a start. He turned and saw the redhead from his thoughts standing in the balcony, one step away from the glass door. He didn't speak, partly because of shock and partly because he was speechless. At least, for the moment.

"The raid was last night," she said quietly, looking at him. "They spent the whole night searching the place. They didn't find anything. Not a single fingerprint to examine, not a single trail to follow."

Duncan was all ears.

"I…. just wanted to say thank you," she said, her voice soft. It even sounded like she meant it.

"You're...welcome," he said carefully. No matter the case, there was still a dangerous mutant in his house, and he was in nowhere reach of a weapon. Or a phone. Whichever. Part of him wanted her to leave, but a larger part of him wanted her to stay.

He wanted to —of all things— talk with her. He hadn't done a lot of talking since... well, a really long time. Sex was something one can get almost anywhere. Talking, having a decent conversation... _that _was rare. He suddenly realized, he didn't have any real friends. Sure his address book was filled with names and phone numbers of people who'd be more than willing to go have a fun night out, but after the club, they all went home with nothing to expect but a very uncomfortable hangover the next morning.

God, he missed high school. He missed being with her.

It was stupid. Neither trusted the other, and so when Jean turned to leave, he didn't do anything to stop her. She levitated herself from the ground as he stood in his living room, watching her. It wasn't any surprise. Through years of seeing mutant powers at work, he had grown quite used to it.

He closed his eyes, knowing that when he opened them, she'd be gone again.


	2. Chapter 2: Underground

Early Monday morning, and Duncan Matthews was sitting in the meeting room. Though the room was filled with competitive, untrustworthy, FOH leaders like him, it was quiet. There was a long, rectangular table in the middle, with swivel chairs on every side but one. Duncan's seat was near the end of the table, to the right of Douglas Smith, so-called head supervisor of that particular Friends of Humanity branch.

"I've been informed that the mission in Boston on Saturday night didn't quite go as expected." He shifted his gaze at Larkin. "What the hell happened?" Each syllable was heavily stressed.

Larkin coughed slightly before speaking. "Well, we went there and... uh..."

Smith arched his eyebrows. "And?"

"We... pretty much... uhm, found... nothing, sir." Larkin looked down, afraid to look at the boss.

Douglas Smith was in his late forties, loud-mouthed, very hot-tempered, and a mammoth of a man. His puffy face was lined with wrinkles, and at the moment, it was also redder than ever. Everyone in the room looked nervous, especially one with the name of Casey Larkin. Duncan Matthews was holding back a smile.

Smith was angry, as usual. "Nothing? Nothing! Somebody must have tipped them off!" He was shouting now. "Or maybe, there were never any mutants in the first place!"

He continued yelling for another five minutes before he finally dismissed them, swearing to God that Larkin would definitely not be receiving an assignment anytime soon. They all piled up to the door, anxious to get out.

"Matthews."

Duncan heard his name just as he reached the door, and he couldn't help but smile inside. He turned around to face Smith. "I want to talk to you for a second," he said calmly, very different from when he was angrily screaming just moments before.

"Of course," Duncan replied and waited for others to fully step outside before closing the door.

"Now look here, I can't afford another blunder like Larkin," Smith said in a low voice, looking at him, his face deathly serious. "I received new orders this morning, Matthews. This is top secret, very important."

Duncan listened intently, hanging onto every word. His eyes widened in surprise as he heard his new assignment, his heart beating as fast as it did when he saw Jean the night before, standing in his balcony like a beautiful, haunting ghost.

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Duncan doubted he'd be seeing Jean again anytime soon. He figured since they were still fighting on opposite sides of the game, they didn't really have any reason to see each other. So when he saw her again a little more than a week after their last meeting, it was really quite a shock.

He walked a block from their office during lunch break, and bought lunch in a Starbucks. A healthy turkey sandwich and a bottled water. No wonder he was losing a lot of weight. He usually had lunch back in the office, but when he turned around from the counter, he saw _her _sitting alone at a table, looking at him expectantly. He hesitated, glancing around the small coffeehouse, wondering if anybody knew that there was a mutant with them. But then again, Jean looked perfectly normal. Other than the fact that she could very well pass off for a model, people were oblivious to her.

She was carefully dressed —though no one would ever suspect that— so that she wouldn't attract a lot of attention. She was wearing jeans, white sneakers, and a gray hooded sweater. Her hair was in a high ponytail, and she wore no make-up. A tall cup of (probably) hot coffee was in front of her. Very casual. Nothing out of the ordinary.

He finally decided to approach her, and sat down opposite her without a word. They were sitting by the window, and this surprised him. He would've expected her to choose a table at a back corner...

It was a good strategy, he then realized. She was acting like any other person. Everything was normal. So it seemed.

"Hey," she said with an easy smile. She made it sound like they were best friends. If only.

"Hello. Is it just a crazy coincidence that out of the hundreds of Starbucks out there, you and I are in the same one?"

She laughed softly, which made Duncan smile. "No, no. I've actually been... well, I've been watching you for the past week."

This made him chuckle, though he couldn't help but feel slightly nervous inside. "Oh really?"

She nodded, but was suddenly eager to change the subject. "Do you always buy lunch here?"

"Sort of. I kind of alternate between Starbucks and the Subway across the street."

"I never knew you for a sandwich guy, a _healthy_ sandwich guy," she quickly corrected herself. "When we dated, you usually took me to Burger King or McDonald's. Sometimes even Pizza Hut."

The topic of their past relationship made him feel uneasy, but it didn't seem to affect Jean at all. At least on the outside. "Yeah," he said slowly. "But I've changed."

Jean looked at him. And smiled a little too late. "I know. We both have."

Duncan opened his mouth to say something, but Jean was already on her feet. She threw her cup away at a trash can near the door and stepped outside, mixing with the bustling crowd easily.

He closed his mouth, a little surprised, a little amazed. "See you," he murmured, looking down at his food. As expected, he wasn't feeling hungry at all.

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The organization worked in many different ways. But to make all things simple, Duncan's job was mainly to sit in his office staring at the phone. The phone used to ring at least twenty times a day. The system was a little like 911. Citizens were encouraged to call the Friends of Humanity hotline whenever they suspected a mutant's presence, and soldiers would be sent there as soon as possible to deal with the problem and save the day.

But now, they were lucky if the phone rang twice in an afternoon. Mutants had become careful, discreet. And since most of them looked like normal human beings, that didn't help either.

At four thirty, Duncan used the elevator to get into the parking lot. He walked to his blue convertible and unlocked it. It had been his car for six years. A 1999 Mitsubishi Eclipse, it was very expensive when his parents first bought it for his 17th birthday. He could easily buy a new car if he wanted, but this one suited him nicely for now. Besides, he was feeling more than just a little attached to it. He was only a few feet from the driver's side when he heard a voice call out.

"Yo, Matthews!"

Larkin. Wonderful. Duncan turned to see the man approaching him. "Hey, you going home already?" Larkin asked.

"Yeah, actually. I've... had a long day," he said, hoping the guy would get the message and leave him alone.

"Yeah? Well, so did I," he replied. "I mean, seriously, you were there this morning, right?" Duncan sighed. "Grouch acted like it was _my _fault. I mean, c'mon! How the hell was I supposed to know there weren't gonna be any muties?"

Duncan nodded. "Yeah, sure. Hey, listen man. I'm goin' home now, okay? So.. I'll see you around," he said quickly, opened the door and slid into the driver's seat.

"Hey wait, Dunc!"

Duncan grimaced. He hated that nickname. "How about we go grab some drinks? You know, just to help forget about today for a while. We need a little bit of fun every now and then, you know."

Duncan silently debated in his head. It was a Monday night, but a few drinks wouldn't hurt, he thought to himself. After all, with this whole thing with Jean and his new assignment that would probably start as early as next week...

The last time he went out with friends was probably two months ago. He deserved to have a fun night, he decided. "Okay, fine. Get in," he said, nodding his head to the passenger seat.

"Nah, we don't have to take that. I know a good place within walking distance," Larkin replied, then grinned. "This is gonna be fun, Matthews."

_Fun? Hanging with you? It better be._

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It was crazy, and it was loud. The night before, there had been a local rock band playing on stage. They played alternative music; not exactly something a lot of people danced to. The owner realized this, and after the band finished their gig, he immediately hired a deejay to work for the next night. And so when Duncan Matthews and Casey Larkin walked in, techno music was blaring off the speakers, and everyone was dancing all over the dance floor.

Duncan was never a fan of high-pitched, beeping sounds that seemed to go on and on and on, and almost immediately, he felt a headache start to surface.

"Whoo!" Larkin yelled, already a sly grin on his face.

Duncan glanced at him, "I'm goin' to the bar."

"What?"

"I said I'm going to the bar!"

"What? I can't hear you!"

"Goddamn it, Larkin! I said I'm going to the fucking bar!"

"Jeez, Matthews! You don't have to be all— "

Duncan didn't hear the rest. He was already on his way to the counter, grabbing a round seat. The bartender was on the other side, paying attention to other customers, and Duncan didn't feel like yelling his drink. He sighed heavily. He was already regretting that he agreed to a 'fun' night out.

"You don't look like you're having a lot of fun."

Duncan looked up and saw a young attractive brunette flashing a smile at him. "That's because I'm not," he replied bluntly.

"Oh, that's too bad." She crossed her perfectly tanned legs as she sat next to him. "You know, I've never... _met, _a soldier before."

At that, he couldn't help but grin. This night could still be fun after all. "Yeah?"

"Mm-hmm," she murmured, her hands already on his chest, running her slender fingers on his vest.

'_Wow, talk about being forward.'_

Duncan jerked his head back. He could've sworn he heard Jean's voice right then...

The woman looked up at him in surprise, and then suddenly, without a word, she stood up and walked away.

"What?" Duncan's gaze followed her as she disappeared through the ladies' room. What the hell just happened?

"I guess she lost interest," a sarcastic, very familiar, feminine voice said.

Duncan turned his head to the place where the brunette had just been sitting. He blinked in surprise. Jean was sitting there, wearing a short black dress, beautiful as ever, and looking very amused.

"Wha — how?"

She smiled. "Easy. I had to get rid of her," she said, tapping a forefinger to her temple. "Now I only have a couple of seconds, and I just had to warn you to stay away from the stage, okay?"

"What?"

"Stay away from the stage, Duncan," she repeated in a louder voice. Then giving him a small peck on the cheek, she sauntered away through the crowd. He stared.

"_Damn_, Matthews. Who was that?" It was Larkin's voice this time.

"Huh?"

"I said, who was _that_, Matthews? She was fuckin' hot!"

Duncan shook his head, trying to clear his head. Too much was happening too fast. "Oh her? She was just... an old friend..."

"Just an old friend?" Larkin grinned. "Well in that case, I guess you wouldn't have any objections if I ask for her num—"

He never got to finish his sentence as a small explosion erupted at the stage. A larger blast occurred a second later, and it sent the deejay flying to the floor.

Duncan was up from his seat in a flash, as everyone was suddenly screaming and panicking towards the exit. His mind immediately remembered what Jean told him just a minute ago. And he sighed. "Ah, shit."

"Muties!"

"What?"

"Damn _muties_! I betcha they're behind this, Matthews!" Larkin yelled through the screaming people.

Both soldiers were pushing hard against the crowd, hands on their guns, trying to make it through the stage where the explosions started. Everyone else was eager to get as far away as possible. Smoke and dust were everywhere, clouding the view and making it hard to breath. It was suddenly very hot, and if it weren't for his duty as a member of the Friends of Humanity, Duncan would probably already be outside and not giving a damn.

Finally, they made it past the lessening crowd and across the dance floor. The place was still dim, except for the continuous flash of disco lights.

Looking up at the stage, he could barely see anything; the gray air was too thick, but a rapid movement caught his eye. He didn't know what or who it was, but he was determined to find out. _It can't be Jean…_

"Let's check it out," he said to Larkin. The other man nodded, raising his gun. But before Duncan could even take one step forward, a red beam emitted from somewhere behind the smoke onstage. The light zoomed past him, and hit Larkin square on the chest, throwing him back against the other side of the room. His body slid down to the floor, his mind unconscious.

Jerking his head back to where the light came from, Duncan fired his gun blindly at the stage, his shots disappearing through the smoke. It was useless, and he knew it.

Without warning, the mysterious red light flashed again, but this time, it was shot upwards. Its aim was true, and it released a dark metal beam that hung from above, making it fall...

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Duncan glanced up and froze, watching helplessly as the sight of it grew bigger and bigger.

He didn't feel it. But everything was suddenly black. His eyes were closed, and he was afraid to open them.

_Am I dead?_

He dared to breath. There was an odd, musky stench. He felt a headache, and he tried to put his hands to his temples... but he couldn't. He opened his eyes, slowly. There was a single light, right above his head. He was in a small, dark room, and he was sitting at the center, hands and feet bound to a wooden rigid chair.

The dark green walls were made of thick bricks. They looked damp. There were no windows, but there was a door. Brown and made of wood, with a rusting silver doorknob.

He blinked hard, trying to clear his mind. He tried to remember...

What happened? Why was he here? _Where _is here?

Suddenly, he heard something.

Voices.

He could tell there was more than one person. They were getting louder, but he couldn't make out the words. Each second was filled with suspense, and his heart was beating at an alarming rate.

Finally, the door opened. And in that one second, Duncan's heart rose to the highest heavens, and then sank to the darkest of hells.

Jean Grey. Scott Summers. They were in dark and bright uniforms. Black and green. Blue and yellow.

_Now what_? Duncan thought absently.

Scott was not wearing his red shades for once, but he was wearing a strange kind of visor on his face. Duncan struggled to remember why Summers always had something on his face...

He had read it once on his file...

Of course! To block the red concussive beams his eyes... released...

_Fuck! It was Summers back at the club!_ How could he have been so stupid?!

Scott spoke first, and not without disgust in his tone. "You're awake."

"Summers, I can't believe it. You're still alive."

"And sadly, so are you."

Duncan glared. Scott smirked, knowing a glare in return would be no good.

"Okay, okay, enough. You know what? This probably wasn't such a good idea after all," Jean said as she stood between them. "Scott, I'll handle this."

"Yeah, Summers. No worries. She can handle _me_," Duncan added, and forced the slyest grin he could muster on his face.

Scott ignored the comment in honor of Jean's request a few minutes before they had entered the room. "Fine, Jean. But if he tries anything, and I mean _anything_, then there is nothing in this world that can stop me from giving him what he deserves."

When Scott finally disappeared through the door, Jean shook her head.

"What is it?" Duncan asked her, slightly concerned.

"Nothing," she replied, but turned to looked at him. "It just amuses me how _some _people never grow up."

"Yeah, tell me about it. I mean, after all these years, Scott still has grudges against me."

"Oh shut up, Duncan." And with that, Jean telekinetically clamped his mouth shut, making him mumble in protest. She released her hold after silently counting to ten and calming down.

"Whoa," Duncan exclaimed. "I didn't know you could do that."

Jean eyed him, and smirked. "Duncan, I can do a _lot _more than that."

He could barely believe it — Jean was flirting. He laughed. Scott would probably kill him right then if he knew what was happening.

"But right now," she said, in a very different, more serious tone, "There's something we have to talk about."

"Oh," he said, clearly in disappointment. "That's why you guys kidnapped me, right?"

"We didn't— " Jean started, but stopped. "Okay, you're right. I guess we did sort of... kidnap you."

"You know, if someone had asked me back in high school of who was likely to grow up into a criminal, you and Summers would be the last people I've guessed."

Jean stared at him, taking in his words. "We're not criminals, Duncan. We're mutants, but that doesn't make us criminals."

"I know that, but I wasn't talking about that, Jean. I was talking about this whole kidnapping thing!" Duncan said, raising his voice slightly. He stopped and sighed. A sad smile appeared on his face. "You know, you could've just asked me out. If you wanted to talk about something, we could've talked about it over a cup of coffee... maybe in a Starbucks?"

Jean let a small laugh escape her lips. "Maybe," she said. "But this is important. We just couldn't risk it."

"Yeah. And besides, Summers would probably have a fit if he knew you were out on a date with me."

Jean narrowed her eyes at him. "What do you mean?"

Duncan raised a brow.

Jean looked utterly confused.

"Ohh," Duncan murmured. He grinned. "Nothing. Never mind," he replied quickly, suddenly feeling elated. "What was it that you wanted to talk about again?"

"Duncan… it's about Professor Charles Xavier."

His eyes widened as he heard the name. Did he just hear what he just heard? How did she know? Did she read his mind when he was unconscious?

"I know your next assignment involves him," she continued, "and I need you to tell me where he's being held."

Duncan scoffed. "Are you serious?"

Jean knelt in front of him and covering both his hands with hers, she looked up and softly said, "Yes."

Duncan almost lost himself staring into her beautiful green eyes. He saw it filled with emotion, pleading with him. His mind was racing. Where did his loyalties lie? To an ex-girlfriend? Or to an entire organization to which he had already dedicated five years of his life?

The answer seemed obvious, but he couldn't believe it was the right one. He was torn in the midst of it all. He was going to lose something important one way or the other...

_I suppose this is what I get for backstabbing Larkin_, Duncan thought bitterly._ Damn the guy. Goddamn him._


	3. Chapter 3: Top Secret

"From what I've heard, he's kind of like your leader, right?" he said sourly, turning away from her gaze.

"Leader?" Jean frowned slightly. "Yes, in a way, I suppose you could say that." She stood up, like she knew what he was thinking. "But he's really more of a father to us than anything else."

He arched a brow suspiciously. _Father, huh?_

"You see," Jean continued, starting to pace in front of him, "he took us all in when no else could help us or, actually, was _willing _to help us. He helped us accept who we are, and understand our responsibilities by having these... abilities. He was like a second father to all of us, especially to Scott. And in one way or another, we're all indebted to him. Take me for example... " Jean paused. "I owe him my life."

Duncan looked up to meet her eyes, and he couldn't help but wonder what had happened. He wanted to know, but... he was afraid to ask. He turned his gaze onto the floor. His stomach was suddenly felt uneasy as he realized that he barely knew this woman, this girl whom he claimed to have loved.

"Why don't you just read my mind or something?" he asked instead. "Aren't you supposed to be a telepath? Why go to all this trouble when you could've just read my mind at the coffeehouse?"

Jean cocked her head slightly, but she had decided to ignore his questions. With one wave of her hand, the ropes loosened around his wrists and ankles. "I have to go and talk to Scott. Feel free to take a walk around if you want," she said, "just be careful not to try anything stupid. This place is _crawling _with mutants, you know."

She was smiling.

Duncan watched her leave in confusion. What was she up to? Surely he was being set up. He couldn't understand why she would actually set him free, just like that.

Maybe, maybe she was trying to earn his trust?

He waited a few minutes, and when he could no longer stand it, he threw the ropes to the floor and got up in haste. Cautiously, he stood against the wall near the doorway and with a light nudge of his finger, pushed the door wide open. To his relief, there was nothing. Careful not to let his guard down, he wandered through the dark passageway. From the smell of it, he was almost certain he was underground in the sewers of New York. However, it seemed like the mutants had improvised. Every now and then he would see wooden doors to his sides, no doubt leading to other rooms of some kind.

All these years the Friends of Humanity had been searching for mutants roaming free in the streets, and the damn things were right under their noses—literally! Duncan shook his head as he continued walking. Really now, who would have thought to even look _here_? These mutants were smart; he had to give them that. Filthy, —he smirked— but smart.

After a few turns, he finally heard voices. They came from a room whose door was slightly ajar. Quietly, almost without thinking, he approached it and peered in, his heartbeat quickening.

From what he could see, the room looked almost identical to the one he woke up in, except that there was a plain-looking table in the center of it instead of a lonely chair. Scott Summers walked into what little view he could see and half-sat, half-leaned on the table. Scott didn't look too happy.

"Whatever you say, Jean. But I still don't trust the guy."

"Okay," Jean's voice said, "I can accept that. But look at it this way, Scott. I know we're taking a big risk here, but I'm sure he knows where the professor is. And if we're finally able to get him back... don't you think it's a risk worth taking?"

Scott slumped, shaking his head. "Please understand, I'm only trying to— "

"It is not good manners to listen to others' conversations," a voice suddenly spoke behind Duncan. The blond almost fell through the goddamn door. Luckily, he was able to quickly regain his balance. He turned around cautiously and came face to face with someone's huge chest. Much to his disappointment, it was a man's chest.

Duncan looked up. The man in front of him was at least a head taller than him. Heck, maybe two heads, Duncan thought. He was heavy, bulky, and wearing a strange red and yellow costume.

"I have not seen you before," the man continued in a deep, very distinct accent. Russian, Duncan guessed.

"Uh, well, this is my first time here, after all," Duncan answered, nervously wondering what would happen now since he'd been caught eavesdropping...

"I see." The man hesitated, but nonetheless held out his hand. "My name is Piotr Rasputin."

Duncan stared at the giant hand for a moment, then he shook it firmly with his own. "Duncan Matthews. Nice to meet you, uh, Pee-oh—uhm, er—"

To Duncan's surprise, the man smiled. "My friends call me Peter. They say it is easier."

The door behind Duncan opened, and Jean appeared, her thin brows furrowed. "What's going on?"

"Uh, hi Jean. Just meeting a friend of yours here," Duncan answered quickly, nodding to Peter.

Jean's lovely eyes squinted with suspicion, no doubt still wary of what had just happened. "All right," she said slowly. Peter must have sensed something was wrong, and he quickly — politely — said goodbye to both of them, disappearing off into one of the dark ends of the corridor. As soon as he was out of sight, Jean shut the door behind her and turned her attention to Duncan. "How much did you hear?"

"Wha—? What do you mean?" Duncan asked, innocence displayed on his handsome face.

"Yeah, right. You're getting bored, aren't you?" she said, heaving a fake sigh. "I guess it's time we let you go then."

Duncan's mouth fell open. He couldn't believe his ears. Really? he thought in eagerness. But rapidly his excitement dissipated, as his mind began to work properly again.

_She's kidding_. _She can't possibly just let me go after everything I've just found out! Hell, if I could just even _hint _to the boss that mutants were lurking here underground, soldiers would be here in a matter of minutes…_

"We'll have to tie you up again, though. Scott will freak out if he finds out I let you loose," she said, a soft smile on her lips.

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Duncan felt the rough texture of the rope tighten around his wrists, and for one quick moment, he considered making a break for it. But then, him —completely armless— against two very powerful mutants? No chance.

Half of his face was covered by a white handkerchief. _It smells pretty nice_, Duncan thought absently. _Probably Jean's..._

As they began walking, Duncan was quick to realize that Scott was the one behind him and Jean was the one who led the way. It was easy to figure out since the one following him kept poking him hard against his lower back with some stick, to force him to keep going forward.

_Left...eight steps forward... right... ten steps... ladder up... seventeen steps forward..._

He tried to remember every step, just in case. However, there were quite a few turns, and there were a couple of times when Jean had to levitate them because there was water. It was an uncomfortable situation. Not only because he couldn't see and every once in a while he would stumble —and he'd always hear snickering behind him— but the entire time there was silence. No one spoke, though it wasn't like anyone actually tried to start up a conversation. With Scott following right behind him, it was just too awkward, he decided.

And hell, if that wasn't enough, the place reeked! Thank God for the handkerchief, Duncan thought. It actually made breathing easier.

Finally, they climbed up the last ladder, and though still blindfolded, he knew they were out of the sewers, as the fresh night air caressed his nostrils through the cloth. Duncan knelt on the cold cement, his back itching terribly from all the poking.

He felt soft hands brush against his ears, and soon the blindfold was taken off. Duncan opened his eyes. It was still dark and... he recognized the street. He couldn't see anyone nearby; the entire block was completely empty. It was the same place where the club was burning down earlier that night, and both openings to the street had been blocked off.

The entire street was probably still being scanned for mutants...

Now, Duncan realized that this was a stupid process. Mutants weren't dumb; they'd have escaped the premises and been miles away before even the cops or the Friends of Humanity troops came.

Squinting to get a better view, Duncan saw that the place had not burned down. The nightclub looked all right, he thought. No real damage done, at least on the outside.

The club's front doors suddenly swung open, and two soldiers walked out, talking. Their uniform was similar to the one Duncan was currently wearing, and his eyes widened as the first soldier then stopped abruptly, pointing to Duncan's direction.

"Uh-oh, they've spotted us," Scott muttered.

The soldiers started to walk towards them. Jean nodded at Scott, and with one last glance at Duncan, levitated herself down the manhole.

When the two soldiers saw that spectacle, they began to run towards them. "Hey, you! Stop!" one of them shouted, taking out the guns from their holsters.

Scott turned around to follow Jean, but suddenly stopped mid-step. Looking back at Duncan, he sneered. Scott formed a fist with his right hand, drew back his arm, and swung hard. It connected with Duncan's left jaw, and he fell on his back against the floor, his mind spinning.

"What the fuck, Summers!" He practically yelled, trying to move his jaw. "What the hell was that for?"

"Had to do it," Scott replied smugly, "to make your story more believable." And with that he climbed down the hole, leaving Duncan lying on the ground in pain.

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Duncan Matthews was pissed.

He had just come out of the shower, and was now staring at the bathroom mirror above the white sink. His blond hair was wet and disheveled, his green eyes shone with anger, and a dark red -almost purple- had begun to appear inches below his left eye. He continued to stare at the growing imperfection as he grabbed a white towel that lay folded on the shelf and tied it firmly around his naked waist.

With a careful hand, he lightly touched the swelling on his left jaw, and sighed. There goes your perfect face, he thought, well, for a couple of weeks anyway. He scoffed. He had thought he was over and above the superficial things, but apparently not.

Exercising his jaw in a counter-clockwise motion, he left the bathroom and sat on the bed.

A big brown envelope lay on his nightstand. "TOP SECRET" was stamped in front of it: big, bold, and red. His eyes caught sight of the words, but he hesitated. Douglas Smith had personally given it to him a few hours before in the street, where he was previously found by the two soldiers.

_After the two had found him, back-up soon showed up, and all available soldiers were soon underground in the nearby sewers, scanning and checking for any mutants._

_Duncan almost rolled his eyes as he leaned against the side of a police car, a health care professional standing in front of him and carefully treating his left jaw. The woman was gentle with her work. She was also a brunette, and very attractive. He appreciated it._

"_Matthews."_

_Duncan froze. He knew that stern voice and he had a feeling –a nasty one- that the voice was going to reprimand him._

_Duncan didn't turn to face the voice, hoping that the current ongoing treatment for his jaw would be enough of an excuse. "Sir."_

"_Heard what happened tonight."_

"_Yes, sir. We were surprised, ambushed, and… they attempted to keep me hostage. They wanted information from me, sir. But I was able to escape, with only a minor beating."_

_There was a moment of silence as a thoughtful expression appeared on Smith's hardened face. "I see," he said. Standing in front of the police car, he laid his black briefcase on top of the hood and opened it. He pulled out a Manila envelope. "These mutants are clever, Matthews. They know that I won't trust you with anything anymore, since you were so quick to fail me today."_

_Duncan's jaw involuntarily clenched at those words, causing a sharp pain to course through his lower face and upper neck. He ignored it._

"_But, I am one step ahead of them, my friend," he said quietly, almost a light tone in his voice, and handed the envelope to Duncan. Quickly, Smith inhaled sharply, and pursed his lips. "No mess ups this time, Matthews."_

It was not so much a command as it was a threat, Duncan thought wearily. Taking a deep breath, he finally grabbed the envelope, and opened it.

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Life used to be quite simple. At the age of seventeen, all that mattered was winning football games, maintaining a C average, and making sure the other boys knew well to stay away from his girlfriend. Indeed, life was good, despite the constant pressure to keep winning the football games, to keep passing those exams that always seemed to creep on him at the very last minute, and to not be afraid to throw that punch towards the other boy's nose every time he got too close to his girl.

This nostalgic contemplation was currently preventing Duncan Matthews from drifting off to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, memories of football practice appeared. And every time he glanced at the alarm clock to see how late the time was, he unconsciously thought of the time when he was stuck seated in class, staring at a history test on his desk about the American Revolution, and how he couldn't remember whether it was Jefferson or Adams who became president first.

And every time he forced those memories out of his head, images of Jean Grey kept replacing them. Making out in the theater instead of paying attention to _Titanic_ (Jean's choice)... Her head on his chest as they slow dance to Boyz II Men during Homecoming... A passionate goodbye kiss that accidentally leads to something else inside his car...

Never mind that those images were more welcome than the others, but he knew thinking about Jean would do him no good. She was out of his life, and their relationship was done and over.

Except she wasn't out of his life. She came back.

Duncan grabbed a pillow and buried his face under it. He screamed, letting go of all his frustration that had quietly been building inside of him, ever since he had seen that lovely face again.

It would have been so much easier, so much simpler, if he knew she wasn't in any way involved in his next mission. But he knew, without a doubt in his mind, she would be. She would be there, and Summers would be there as well. He grimaced.

His assignment was to supervise the transport of one of the most dangerous mutants alive. He was to make sure that Professor Charles Xavier, currently held prisoner in the island of Genosha by the government, was finally going to be put in the hands of the Friends of Humanity. They had their own secured facility located in the deserts of New Mexico. It would be along trip for Xavier, Duncan thought, since the heavily guarded Genosha was located off the east coast of Africa.

Duncan was not high enough in ranking to know how the Friends of Humanity were able to acquire the prisoner, but he was high enough in ranking to know that this was only a temporary situation. The Friends of Humanity would have three weeks to gain whatever information they wished from the mutant, and then Xavier would be transported back to Genosha.

Top secret.

Five years ago, when the true identities of the X-Men were ratted out by the media during the giant robot incident, the U.S. Government discovered Professor Charles Xavier being held prisoner in Stokes County Maximum Security Facility, the same building that the mutant Juggernaut had been held prisoner in. The professor was unconscious, and he was found floating in green, bubbling, cellular paralysis bio-fluid inside a glass cylinder containment prison. No one knew who put him there, but no one seemed to care much either. They had the most powerful mutant in their hands, and that was in itself a huge achievement, considering the rest of the X-Men had been able to escape their clutches.

Five years later, the body of Charles Xavier still floated inside the cylinder filled with green liquid. It seemed the U.S. Government had not been willing to take any risk that involved Xavier. No one knew the extreme, perhaps unlimited, capabilities of Charles Xavier.

Maybe this is how the Friends of Humanity was able to get their hands on Xavier, even if it's just for a few weeks. Who knew better to control the most powerful mutant in the world than the Friends of Humanity?

Silently he ran his fingers through his blond strands and sighed. He felt a strange pressure growing in his heart. It wasn't the familiar feeling that he always craved whenever he was about to begin another assignment. This wasn't adrenaline, nor was it excitement. It was dread, he finally realized.

Draining, unbearable, nagging dread –not because his next mission was a particularly dangerous one, but because he knew not whether he had the strength to pull the trigger the next time he saw those lovely green eyes.


	4. Chapter 4: Sweet Revenge

Although the island of Genosha was a country all by itself, the established mutant prison was currently held under control of the United States Government. And even though the original document of the U.S. Constitution still sat in display within the United States National Archives and Records Administration building in Washington, DC, mutants were an exception to the rights that the Constitution provided to all Americans. In fact, the island spelled _hell_ for all mutants unlucky enough to be captured. Located south of Madagascar, more than half of the country's surface area was established as a prison facility where mutants were forced to wear metal collars around their necks. These neck constraints were a fancy piece of technology invented by Colonel Bolivar Trask, the cyberneticist who was also responsible for the creation of the Sentinels. The collars not only allowed the overseers to subject mutants to excruciating jolts of electricity whenever acts of disobedience occurred, but more importantly, it negated the effects of carrying the x-gene, rending the wearers powerless.

The situation was worse than the established Jim Crow laws against the African-Americans a century ago. No, Genosha was even worse than the apartheid system in South Africa. The mutants were not merely prisoners; they were slaves. They did not have freedom to walk the country. They were caged like dangerous animals in incredibly hi-tech holding cells. At night, they rested their tired bodies on uncomfortable cots while they dreaded the hard work that awaited them in the morning.

They worked without pay, of course, and it was not only hard manual labor, but it was the type of work that killed their spirits little by little as routine days passed by. Some of the newer captives could hardly believe what they were being told to do, but they lacked the right to refuse. Disobedience was uncommon, although there were still a few that had been foolishly willing to suffer the torture that the neck collars easily provided.

The enslaved mutants constructed the prisons that held them captive. They assembled equipment that was used against them. They built the Sentinels that hunted them.

It was cruelty at its worst, born from humankind's fear of the unknown.

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An army jeep had picked him up from the airport in the capital city of Hammer Bay, Genosha. The thirty-something driver wore an army uniform, and did not talk much.

It took less than a half hour to drive out of the busy city, and another twenty minutes before the jeep stopped in front of a towering thick gate. Duncan looked up, impressed. The gate was the only opening to the thick gray wall –eighty feet tall and perhaps twenty feet wide– that surrounded the prison. He was awestruck. The wall was steep, smooth, and formidable. It was built to keep people out –and force prisoners inside.

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"Do you know what this is?"

It had been two hours since Duncan first entered the prison, and now he found himself speaking with one of the most prominent anti-mutant supporters in the world. The man named Bolivar Trask had just lifted the weapon from the table with utmost care. A satisfied smile was planted on his face as he surveyed the glimmering weapon with keen eyes.

It was a small gun. It had a clear, transparent color, and Duncan wondered whether it was made of plastic. Its shape resembled a flintlock, a French gun widely used in the 16th to 19th century, but it was obvious that it was more than a simple pistol. Duncan bit his tongue to refrain from saying, "Of course, I know what it is, sir. It's a fucking gun!" Instead he remained seated on the wooden chair that had been offered to him minutes before, an irritated frown on his face.

"This gun was specially designed to neutralize the x-gene. One dart, one shot, one hit -that's all it takes." Trask grinned. "First, the subject will feel a surge of electricity running through his body, a quick wave of numbness will follow, all the while draining him of energy, and he will feel exhausted, as if he'd been running miles without stopping. Then pain –slow, convulsive; within seconds, he'll soon discover that his powers have been forcefully repressed."

"Quite useful," said a man who had suddenly appeared from the doorway. He leaned casually against the doorframe, his gaze focused on the weapon. His name was Henry Gyrich, and he looked to be in his mid-fifties, although he was in good physical shape. He was a burly man in a clean brown suit. He saw Duncan seated, but chose to ignore him.

"Indeed," Trask replied, but the smile from his face had disappeared. "Unfortunately, the effects are not permanent. It only lasts for a few hours. In our experiments, the longest that one of the mutants went through without powers was only a little more than four hours –and that mutant was one of the strongest. That's why we stick to using the collars here in Genosha."

"Probably the best invention you've produced, Col. Trask. Well, I take that back," Gyrich corrected himself, looking thoughtful. "The Sentinel was and _is_ your best invention to date."

The other man shook his head. "Those robots are monsters. But they are necessary. These mutants are worse, and they need to be policed. Millions of innocents are in danger because these atrocities walk the streets. I'm glad the Mutant Containment Bill has finally been ratified and mutants are being shipped here to Genosha where they can be watched and controlled –properly."

"It's like a fortress," Duncan finally said. "Thick, high walls, guards everywhere, collars on their necks –you've taken extreme precautions."

"Extreme precautions have kept everything in order, boy!" Gyrich snapped, and spit splattered as he emphasized the last word. Boy? Duncan fought to hide the sneer that threatened to show on his face.

Gyrich continued, "These muties are clever, dangerous, resourceful… and now you are here to take away the most dangerous of them all from the only place that he belongs."

"Charles Xavier. He established an institution for the 'gifted' many years back," Duncan said. An image instantly appeared in his head: a vibrant Jean Grey, wearing a fitting yellow top and blue jeans, looking over her shoulder as she slowly climbs up the front steps of the Institute. She smiles warmly at him, and thanks him for the ride home with a gentle wave goodbye.

Duncan shook his head, trying to keep his thoughts away from his high school memories.

"Ha! A school for the gifted!" Gyrich scorned. "That was merely a façade. He was building an army! Training mutant kids to become soldiers… Xavier is the most dangerous mutant on the face of the earth, not only for his mutant abilities, but for his powerful influence. He is their leader, and he is their leader for a reason."

This time, Trask spoke. "He can read your mind like an open book. He can worm his thoughts into your head, make you think the way he wants to, force you to do things you'd never do."

"Control is power, and power is control," Gyrich said, glaring at Duncan. "You'd do well to remember that."

Duncan merely pursed his lips as he glared at the man before him.

"_Enough_." Trask had already put the weapon back in the silver suitcase. "Matthews, you came here for a purpose. But as Henry has mentioned, Xavier is a very important man. Enemies will clutter the path from Genosha to New Mexico."

"I know my duty, and my team and I have never failed," Duncan said stiffly. Who the hell did these old bastards think they were?

"I'm sure you haven't." Trask's tone was derisive. Duncan's eyes widened as he caught the suitcase with two hands in front of his chest.

"But we do not want any unnecessary risks."

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The semi-trailer truck advertised a gigantic delicious Big Mac that was worthy of intense salivation as it drove down Interstate 25. The discomfort of the smoldering heat was unknown to Duncan, who currently sat on the stiff floor inside the fully air-conditioned trailer. There was a constant sloshing sound to his left, caused by the green paralyzing fluid that drowned Xavier in his containment cylinder.

The cylinder covered most of the space inside the trailer, but it left enough room for a chained ATV that was parked near the door located at the end of the trailer. It was there as a precaution, although Duncan wasn't entirely sure how that would serve as one…

Bored out of his mind, he eyed the silver suitcase that lay carelessly on the floor. For a while he debated whether to open it or not, when finally, sheer boredom won, and soon found himself he pulling the suitcase onto his lap. Unfastening a simple latch was all it took to open it.

There it was, the gun that Trask had hungrily gazed upon merely hours before: harmless to _Homo sapiens_, but something completely different to mutants. He pulled it out of the suitcase's velvet interior, and held it up against the light. His eye twitched slightly as his hand adjusted to the feel of the gun's handle. He aimed at the wall, and he felt a surge of excitement course through his veins. Power, he thought, this was power.

He aimed the gun at the bald man that floated in the green liquid.

"You can sneak into my head, read my thoughts. Powerful men fear you. They said you can make me do things I wouldn't normally do. But more than that, I think you can tear my mind apart, make me lose all sense of judgment and rationality, give me hallucinations, and render me insane. _That_ is why I think you are the most dangerous enemy." Duncan lowered the gun, and continued to stare at Xavier. He scoffed into the silence that covered the gap between them. "But just one shot, and you are nothing but a cripple."

"You talkin' to yerself again there, Matthews?"

Duncan turned to see William Jackson sitting on the floor, wiping his gun with a cloth for the umpteenth time. A blond in his late twenties, Jackson was in the team that Duncan commanded, and through many skirmishes they had overcome, had earned Duncan's trust.

"Jackson, I thought you were sleeping." A smirk was on Duncan's face.

Jackson raised a brow. "Only for a little bit. It don't matter how much you let your team slack off, Matthews. We still got some dignity left in us, you know."

"Right."

"So that's Xavier, huh?"

"Yeah."

"The most powerful mutant?"

"That's what they say."

"You know what I heard?" Jackson looked thoughtful. "I heard this guy is good friends with that Magneto guy. You know, the one who built that asteroid in space?"

Duncan looked at him disbelievingly. "Urban legend."

At that moment, the green liquid swilled more persistently and the floor that Duncan stood on began to shake. The vehicle had strayed from the interstate and into a rough dirt road. It meant that only two more hours were left in their journey before they reached their destination.

Duncan walked to the intercom, and pushed and held the button. "Ryan, slow down a bit. The bumpy road's making our… _package_ unstable. God knows Jackson and I don't want to drown in this trailer like Xavier's drowning in his little cylinder."

"_Aw'right_," came the static response and already the truck was slowing down. But…

Too slow, Duncan noticed. It wasn't long before they had come to a full stop. _What the hell?_

Under no circumstances were they supposed to stop. Trying to ignore the building panic within him, Duncan pushed the button again. "Ryan, I said drive slower, not come to a full stop!"

"_There's somethin' lyin' on the road...!_"

For a second, Duncan stared at the intercom in confusion, but then it struck him. "It's an ambush! Ryan, drive! Faster!"

Jackson was already on his feet, gun in hand. "I knew something like this would happen."

"No, wait." Duncan said as he glanced at the weapon on his hand. "I've got this. You're in command. Make sure our cargo gets to its destination!"

Jackson looked ready to protest, but Duncan cut him off. "See this?! This is the only thing that can stop them. Now, do your duty and follow my command."

At that, Jackson breathed a frustrated sigh, and Duncan got onto the all-terrain vehicle, yelling, "Open it!"

Jackson did as he was told, and pushed a button that operated the door. Duncan almost choked as he breathed dirt and sand; nevertheless, he revved up the vehicle. As soon as the doorway had swung downward fully, creating a makeshift slide towards the ground, Duncan drove the ATV down to the dirt, bouncing greatly at the sudden impact. He turned sharply, and stopped to take a look around. Some thirty feet away lay the body that Ryan had seen. _The truck had run it over_, Duncan thought. With a grunt, he started the ATV again and headed towards it. As he got closer, the body moved.

Duncan braked. His pulse got faster. "Who's there? Show yourself!"

The body stood up, but it was covered in an old brown cloak. Under the hood, the person cocked his head curiously.

Duncan swung his leg over the vehicle and stepped closer towards the mysterious enemy. He had his arms straight in front of him, the gun aimed.

A finger tapped his shoulder, and Duncan's blood ran cold. He lunged forward, rolling on his back and got up to his feet. He faced the other enemy.

Jean.

"Why do you do this?!" Sweat dripped down his temple. He wasn't entirely sure if it was the heat that caused it. "Why can't you just give it up?"

The redhead wore her usual black and green uniform. The wind blew her hair magnificently, beautiful, shining. It was fire against the sun's heat. She lifted her chin, but her eyes remained connected with Duncan's. "I can't."

"I'm not going to help you."

"You have to."

His face twisted into a pained frown. "No, I don't."

"Duncan–"

"Don't make me do this, Jean!" Duncan's heart thumped loudly, threatening to burst out of his chest. "You were my friend, but more than that, I loved you once… but we're not who we used to be. You have chosen your life; I have chosen mine –and I _will_ live it the way I should!" He couldn't help but notice that his arm was trembling. He had to end this soon. "I'm letting you leave, so please, just _go_."

Jean stared hard at him, but not with cold eyes. Uncertainty showed.

It was only when her figure fled from his sight that Duncan lowered his gun. He turned. Jean's friend had already disappeared.

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The Friends of Humanity facility was already in sight when Duncan was finally able to catch up to the semi truck. The doorway once again opened downwards, letting Duncan drive up the ramp. It had been a long and arduous drive, and Duncan could not help but groan as he finally got off the ATV. His lower region hurt.

"What happened?" Jackson asked eagerly as the doorway closed.

"I took care of it." Duncan's answer was blunt, and his voice flat, letting Jackson know that it would serve him best to leave his commander alone.

"Of course."

The rest of the drive continued in silence. Even when they had passed through the twenty-foot wire fence that surrounded the perimeter of the facility, Duncan's stoic demeanor remained.

The content countenances of Col. Bolivar Trask and Douglas Smith awaited him as he stepped out of the semi truck. Smith stepped forward, and offered a hand to Duncan. "Well done, Matthews. I knew you were the man for the job."

Duncan shook the hand, finally letting a proud smile break his impassive face. "Thank you, sir."

"I'm impressed as well," said Trask, though he did not extend a hand. He saw his invention which Duncan had holstered between his belt and waist. "You encountered trouble?"

Duncan's brows shot up as he too noticed the gun. He had forgotten about it for a while. Quickly, he glanced around for Jackson and Ryan. They were inside the trailer helping to prepare the cylinder so that it could be transported into the building.

"No," he answered. "We had no trouble whatsoever. Here," he said, pulling the gun from his belt. "I simply wanted it within reach. After all, I did not want to take any _unnecessary_ risks."

Trask's lips thinned. "Keep it. There's plenty more where that came from. Besides, I'm sure you can find some use for it in your profession."

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His mission had been accomplished.

Smith had implied that he could safely expect a promotion, but his thoughts were far from what awaited him on Monday morning. Try as he might, his stubborn mind would not cease from replaying the scene with Jean a few hours beforehand.

He could not help but wonder if he truly had the guts to pull that damn trigger.

As he walked the empty corridors alone, he imagined her, writhing in pain as she fell to the ground, her lovely face contorting to suit the pain that she felt inside. She'd moan as her skin became cold as ice, but inside she'd be burning in white hot flames. Trembling fingers reached out to him…

He hastily dismissed the thought from his head. He felt about ready to hurl.

His rapid pace was brisk, aimless. Every corridor looked the same. He groaned in frustration. He needed fresh air! Turning the corner, he almost bumped into someone…

Duncan's eyes widened. "Summers!"

It was indeed Scott Summers, clad in his blue uniform with a large yellow X on his chest. Scott's right hand shot up to his temple in alarm, looking ready to blast Duncan.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing here?" Duncan struggled to keep his voice calm. Then his mind clicked. "Jean's here too, isn't she?!"

"Keep your voice down!" Scott snapped, irking Duncan. _What right did Summers have to order him around?_ "I hear something."

Footsteps echoed from the end of the passage.

"Someone's coming," Scott said.

"Is that a fact?" Sarcasm was evident in Duncan's voice.

"Come on!"

"No! I don't know this place well enough. We'll never outrun them."

Scott stopped. "Then what do you propose we do?"

At that moment, the guard emerged from the corner. "You there!"

"Stand back," Duncan ordered the guard, as his hand pulled Trask's weapon from his belt. He aimed it at Scott, whose jaw fell open at the sudden turn of events.

Duncan smirked.

And fired.

The dart pierced through Scott's uniform, landing at the trunk of his neck. On instinct, Scott reached for the dart and pulled it out frantically. "What the hell–"

Scott didn't finish his sentence for excruciating pain soon claimed him. His body shook violently as he fell to his knees. His hands clenched the sides of his head. It seemed the pain was centered on his eyes, Duncan observed.

It made sense.

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He was running now, sprinting. He had left Summers in the corridor with the guard. Now, he had to find that stubborn redhead before the other soldiers did. He slid slightly as he came to an abrupt halt to turn the corner. The elevator he had been looking for was now in sight.

"Duncan!" a soft voice called.

He saw a flash of red hair just as he turned around, and in one quick moment, pulled his pistol from its holster. This wasn't Trask's weapon that fired tiny darts; this was his gun that killed.

He aimed, frightened emerald eyes facing his own jaded ones. Time slowed down as he watched her -a mere ten feet away- reach out a hand to him. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

His heart pounding, his shallow breathing stopping, he clenched his teeth and gripped the rough handle of the gun. He swallowed; spit felt like gravel as it slid down his throat.

It all happened in one painful second, but all the same; he felt his finger pull the trigger.

A loud bang, a splatter of metallic red.

Eyes glistened.

It was a miracle he didn't miss.

Duncan let out the breath he had been holding as the armed soldier behind Jean Grey fell backwards.

_Thud._

He looked at Jean who gave a shaky smile. "Thanks."

He nodded, and they entered the elevator together.

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"You know, you could have at least given me some sort of warning…" Jean began, as they stepped out of the elevator and into a new corridor that looked exactly like the one that they had just left. "Honestly, a simple 'Duck!' or 'Look out!' or 'Heads up!' would have sufficed. Instead you scared the heck out of me. I really thought you were going to shoot me."

Duncan looked at her, and for a moment no words were spoken. "Er… sorry."

A small smile escaped her. "No apologies, Duncan Matthews. After all, you still saved my life."

Duncan never got a chance to reply, as a loud blast had erupted from his left. Instinct drove him to jump to the floor, pulling Jean along with him. He twisted his body to face the shooter, aimed his gun, but gasped as he saw that it was too late. The shooter had already fired again.

Before Duncan could shut his eyes to block the sight of an incoming bullet, he felt his body being pulled upwards with unimaginable speed as he saw the ground shrink beneath him. His stomach lurched as he defied gravity, and he focused on keeping his grip on his gun to stop himself from throwing up.

As soon as the bullet that had been intended for him indented the floor, the shooter was telekinetically flung back against the hard wall. His body slid down in a crumpled heap, but the soldier was still breathing.

With that, Jean levitated Duncan down to his feet, and he could not help but clutch his stomach while his step faltered. He reached for the wall to steady himself.

"Are you going to hurl?" Jean asked cautiously, a look of disgust on her face.

"Don't _ever_ do that again."

Jean rolled her eyes, turning on her heel. "Men are such babies."

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	5. Chapter 5: Red

Seeing Jean start to walk away urged Duncan's stomach to calm faster. He was about to hurry after her when he saw what hung around the unconscious guard's belt. Moving swiftly, he grabbed the black round bomb, knowing it might be handy later on.

He sprinted after Jean, who had just disappeared through another door that led to a circular chamber with walls made of wall-sized computer screens. The keyboard and controls stood by itself near the entrance and in front of Jean, whom Duncan joined shortly.

"Gee, thanks for waiting, Jean." Duncan feigned an annoyed look, but Jean did not seem to hear or notice him. Her gaze was focused downwards, and soon Duncan realized that there was a big 'hole' in the center of the room. A short stairway led to the room within the room, and…

There he was, the old man whom they had been frantically searching for in the past twenty-two minutes —tied down to a metal chair, wrists cuffed with thick bands onto the armrests, and his head lolled against his chest.

Duncan lowered his gun as he quietly observed this man. Here was the cause of the sudden instability in his perfectly established life. What future did he now have? He had chosen to betray his job, his career, the organization that was supposed to be his future, and for what? This man whom he did not even care for?

The thought tugged his lips into a downhearted smirk.

"Come on," Jean said, and rushed downstairs to her unconscious mentor.

Duncan walked over to the controls. "It'll take me a while to figure out the password to unlock the cuffs on him."

"Don't worry, Duncan," he heard Jean's voice say from below, "I've got this."

Duncan's fingers ceased typing. Wondering what Jean could be up to, he climbed down the stairs, but abruptly stopped at the last step…

A determined look of deep concentration shadowed Jean's face. Her squinted eyes stared at the bands without relent, and finally, her hard work paid off. A thin crack appeared at the edge of one band's surface, slowly at first, but gained speed as it crept across to the other end. Duncan imagined a laser slicing the cuffs, but there was nothing visible –just the growing cut for evidence. As soon as one cuff was completely sliced, Jean turned her concentration to the other.

Duncan stood in awe. _Those bands must have been at least an inch thick!_

Soon, Xavier was released, and Duncan picked him up, carrying him across his arms.

"Let's go," Jean said, already heading up the stairs and towards the door from which they had come.

They crossed converging corridors, escaped more armed guards, and managed to avoid getting lost. They paused for a while to catch their breaths, but moments later, they were running again. Finally, they entered the door that led to the hangar, and Duncan felt relief. They could fly a plane to escape!

They stopped short from the first step of the stairs, however, as they took a moment to gaze at the awesome sight before them. Duncan's mouth fell open as Jean's hands gripped the top railing tightly. The hangar was empty of aircrafts; instead, rows of shiny red and black Sentinels lined up across the enormous room.

"Oh God," Jean murmured.

For a moment, Duncan's mind recalled an image of the buried Terracotta Army that was discovered near Xi'an in China decades ago. Fortunately, the eyes of these Sentinels were dead black, lacking the dangerous red gleam that brought life into the robots.

They were just as lifeless as the Terracotta Army.

Duncan noticed Jean swallow nervously, but she didn't stall much longer as she began to descend the metal stairway. Duncan struggled to keep up to Jean's fast pace as they strode past the rows of dead colossal robots. He felt like a mouse as they hurried towards their goal.

The exit was a gigantic door at the other end of the hangar. It took them a few minutes to cross the vast room, but as they finally stood in front of the closed door, their shoulders unwillingly slumped. They surveyed the door, but there were no controls, no colorful buttons, and no handprint scanner. They had no idea how to open it.

"So…"

"I don't think my telekinesis is going to help this time, Duncan," Jean said uncertainly. "I might have been able to budge it open wide enough to let us through one by one, but that laser trick I did earlier took a lot out of me."

Duncan gently laid Xavier's body on the cold floor, and he licked his dry lips as he racked his brain for a solution. Panic was slowly creeping into his system. It made him uneasy to be in a locked room filled with Sentinels; he could only imagine what Jean must feel.

Quiet minutes passed, and he was about to suggest they try to find another way out when they felt the ground vibrate slightly beneath them. They glanced at one another with alert eyes, and turned around to face the giant army that stood behind them. Both released their held breaths in relief as they saw the Sentinels still as lifeless as before.

"What was that?" Jean asked, her eyes showing worry and relief at the same time.

"I bet it was an explosion somewhere in the building..."

Jean knitted her brows. "Something must have gone wrong. Beast might have begun to set off the bombs already... It was part of the rescue plan."

"Beast?"

"Yes, Beast. He's a teammate."

"Beast… He pick it himself? It's a strange name."

"I suppose. But it fits him."

Duncan looked at her in disbelief.

"What? I didn't mean it that way. I meant it in a good way!"

"Like… a compliment?"

"…Sort of. Yes."

Pause. "OK."

Jean shifted uneasily, fidgeting. "Anyway…"

"So Beast has begun setting off explosives?" Duncan asked, trying not to let his amusement show, as seeing Jean Grey squirm was not an all too common privilege. "But that's a good thing, isn't it? That's part of your guys' plan, and we've already got Xavier."

"Yes, but…" Jean walked to the closed door and held a hand against it.

Duncan quietly debated with himself whether it was just his imagination that Jean's hand was shaking before it reached the surface of the door.

"This means we probably have less than fifteen minutes to get out of here, and well, we don't exactly have a way out… at the moment…"

Duncan gave a slight nod at her words. True, but it was hardly the time to be giving up, he thought. He glanced down at his belt, and noticed he still had the small bomb he had snatched from one of the guards they had encountered in the corridors.

It boggled him that he felt no nervousness towards carrying such a dangerous explosive around his waist -and so painfully close to a treasured body part- but another thought was quickly forming in his head. He unattached the bomb from his belt, and surveyed it.

"Jean, I've got it!" he said, already walking up to Jean and the door. "Here, we can blow it open."

"Duncan, what are you—no!" All it took was one glance at Duncan's hand; Jean was speaking in a flurry. "That's a powerful bomb! If that detonates, it can cause a chain reaction of ensuing explosions. Did you forget? The Sentinels behind us are equipped with missiles, Duncan. They're bombs, too! We'd be dead in seconds."

Duncan looked down at his hand, taking in her words. "Oh."

A nervous laugh escaped his throat, and he hung the bomb against his waist again. They stood quiet for a few more minutes, both painfully aware that time was running out. Jean was deep in thought when Duncan scratched his head in frustration.

"Let's go back to where we came from. We'll have to find another way."

Jean opened her mouth to speak, but what she was about to say, Duncan never found out. The giant metal door that had blocked them from freedom suddenly began to split from the middle, opening horizontally; it did not take long for them to feel a cool gust of wind from the night desert, brought in from the darkness outside.

"What—it's opening!" Duncan exclaimed. The doors did not open all the way, but it was more than enough: a Sentinel could have fit through the gap.

The look of surprise on Jean's face was still present when she threw Duncan a disbelieving smile. Then she turned her back towards the opened exit in time to see movement at the other side of the hangar. Someone was descending the stairs, and fast.

Jean's face broke into a wide smile. "Scott!"

Duncan saw him as well, but refused to offer a greeting to his former archrival. He could not help but recall his last meeting with Summers, and he felt a surge of satisfaction course through him.

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_Duncan tore his eyes away from his archrival as the guard approached them. "What did you do to him?"_

"_I took his powers away," Duncan said quietly, smirking._

"_I've never seen anything like it." The guard had his full attention on Scott, and, fascinated, watched the mutant endure unimaginable pain. The dart fell on the floor with a slight clank, Scott's fingers trembling uncontrollably._

_Disgusted, Duncan decided enough was enough. He swung the handle of the gun against the guard's head, knocking him unconscious._

_A few more seconds passed before Scott's body stopped shaking, and it took a great part of Duncan's strength to pull Scott's body into a sitting position against the wall._

"_What… were you… thinking..?" Scott's words came out in short gasps._

"_Sorry." Duncan shrugged, though he could not contain his grin. "But I had to make it look believable."_

"_But… it wouldn't have… mattered anyway…" Scott reasoned, though his breathing remained labored._

_Duncan grinned. "So? Besides I did you a favor. Now you can stop wearing that stupid-looking visor. At least for a few hours," he added._

"_Goddamn… Matthews…" Scott leaned back against the wall with a grunt, shaking his head slightly. "Fuck you."_

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"Jean, c'mon! Scott can easily catch up with—"

A ground-breaking explosion interrupted his sentence. It had occurred right behind Summers, and it sent the leader of the X-Men flying a few feet towards them. Jean gasped, and was about to dash towards her best friend, when Duncan grabbed onto her wrist. She immediately turned to face him, confused; his serious face commanded authority.

"I'll get Summers. Get Xavier to safety," he said firmly.

Jean started to protest, but Duncan pressed a finger against her lips. "I just risked everything for you. Let me assure you, this mission is _not_ going to fail. Go."

The redhead glanced at Scott who was struggling to get up from the floor, then at her unconscious professor a few feet from her, then back at Duncan's determined face. "Hurry… and be careful."

But Duncan had already begun to sprint towards the fallen X-Man. As he ran, he noticed that the explosion had not been related to any of the immobile robots that surrounded them. He saw small flames and debris around Summers, but no Sentinel had moved –or been harmed. This bothered him. What had caused the explosion?

Finally, he found himself kneeling down alongside Summers, who wore no visor on his face. Instead, it was gripped in his hand. Scott's brown eyes glared at him cautiously as he pushed his weight against his arms, struggling to get up. "I suppose you're going to help me?"

Duncan smirked, but didn't wait another second to put the other man's arm around his shoulder. "Figured you could use some."

Both men stood up slowly as Duncan hoisted Scott's weight upwards. They made their way across the wide path towards the open entrance, Scott occasionally grunting in pain.

"Did you break something?" Duncan asked hesitantly.

"It sure feels like I did."

"Let's hurry then."

Scott stopped for a moment, and then spoke uneasily. "Thanks..."

Duncan, trying to ignore the sudden awkward moment that had befallen them, grumbled, "Uh… don't worry 'bout it."

They had made it within twenty feet of the exit, when again the world chose to make life difficult for Duncan Matthews.

He heard a quiet buzz, a sharp whirring of machinery being turned on… a slow growing rumble from the ground. The hair on the back of his neck stood.

"Oh shit."

Scott gulped beside him.

Both looked nervously at each other, but they didn't risk a glance behind them; instead they continued their trudge towards the exit with renewed energy and a much quicker pace.

_Almost there…_

The ground was shaking intensely now, and it was an effort to maintain their balance. At last, they passed through the threshold, though Duncan almost jumped when Jean suddenly appeared in front of them at the height of the night sky. Gracefully, she lowered herself until the soles of her feet touched the ground.

"The professor is safe. He's with Beast in the Blackbird," she explained quickly, helping Scott switch his arm to hang around her shoulder instead of Duncan's. "C'mon, we should hur—"

She stopped mid-sentence, her green eyes wide at the sight behind the two men.

Free of Scott's weight, Duncan finally let himself turn his head to look at the sight that had gotten ahold of Jean's tongue.

It wasn't as bad as he had expected. No, really. He had originally imagined that all the Sentinels had been slowly coming to life, red eyes flashing, and walking towards them.

But instead only two had come to life —red eyes flashing, and making their way towards them.

Two was better than three hundred, Duncan surmised. Well, two so far, he corrected himself, as already he noticed that, further behind the two robots, their brothers were also beginning to show signs of life, their crimson eyes lighting up.

Briefly he wondered how he was forming these thoughts with any sense of calmness. God, he truly must be losing his mind.

"Come _on_!"

Jean was already some steps away from him, struggling to keep her and Scott from losing their balance as they limped further ahead.

"MUTANT LIFESIGNS CONFIRMED," boomed an eerie robotic voice.

Duncan stopped in his tracks. For a moment, he stared at the ground: dirt, sand, and dry grass. After being surrounded by cold metal for the past hour, it astounded him how easily he was able to step into a… more natural environment.

He relished stepping on the dirt.

Dirt that shook with every step the two Sentinels took.

He turned around to face his former allies.

The open gap in the threshold only allowed for the width of one Sentinel, he quickly thought, and that one Sentinel was quickly making its way towards him. Breathing hard, jumbled thoughts jumped all around his mind as he strove to organize them, to think clearly, to focus on the situation at hand.

He formulated a plan.

"Duncan?" Jean's faint voice called out. "What are you waiting for?!"

It took all his might to ignore the sweet sound of her voice, but he knew what he had to do, and for the first time since his meeting with Jean at the warehouse almost a month ago, he felt completely certain of his decision.

He grabbed the bomb that hung tightly on his belt and took a few steps towards the Sentinel that stood at the entrance. It seemed the gap was a few inches too narrow to even let through one robot, and the Sentinel struggled to squeeze in through the opening. Duncan heard the loud screeching sound of metal being scratched against metal, and he winced.

Trying to gain all the courage and calmness he could muster, he took a few moments to analyze the bomb and try to activate it. He succeeded in activating the magnet on the bomb, but as quickly as his determination had swelled in the past five seconds, his heart now shriveled as he realized there was something wrong with his explosive…

The timer refused to work.

Duncan swore, and started to have second thoughts with following through this act of heroism. He grunted in frustration, but firmly stood his ground. He had made his decision, and now he had to stay with it. He only had a few moments, as the Sentinel was almost successful at traversing the exit. It did not seem to notice Duncan, as it had its full attention focused on the mutants: the shrinking silhouettes of Scott Summers and Jean Grey— who had just telekinetically created a large opening through the twenty-foot perimeter fence.

"All right then," Duncan muttered to himself as he anxiously took a few steps forward. He swallowed first, looking up. He pulled back his right arm, and threw the bomb with all his strength… it was like throwing a baseball…

The bomb attached magnetically on the center of the Sentinel's red chest, on what would have been the sternum if the robot body was compared to the human anatomy.

"Gotcha." With that, Duncan pulled his gun from the height of his waist. He raised his arm, aimed at the bomb that was currently emitting a flickering blood light, and fired.

His mind was barely able to register the fact that the bullet had indeed reached its goal when time seemingly… stopped.

A silence that deafened him… swirling scarlet fire encroached… but no heat… no warmth.

Ice. So cold... So numb.

A treacherous blaze swallowed him whole, and for one moment that refused to falter—

the boy named Duncan Matthews saw a flash of leaf green eyes… as the fury of flames morphed into wild flowing red hair—

time sped up again —too rapidly now, whirling him, spinning him…

and then...

and then…

nothingness.

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	6. Epilogue: Green

"How is he?"

A female voice.Jean

"He's going to be all right. He is recovering slowly, but he'll be all right…"

A male voice answered. It had been many years since he had last heard him, but the man's voice was recognizable. It was Charles Xavier's.

"I'm glad. I'm so relieved, Professor, you don't even know how much I..." A pause. "Professor, is there something the matter?"

A sigh. Sad, regretful. "I have something to tell you. This news is not to be taken lightly, Jean. Moira and I have already conducted the test three times, and the results have remained the same."

"Test? A test for what?"

"Jean..."

Duncan strained his ears trying to listen, but Xavier had lowered his voice down to a soft whisper, and...

Jean gasped. "Are you sure?"

"As I have said, the test was done three times. Besides, how else would Mr. Matthews have..."

"Yes," Jean replied softly, "that must be... it's the only logical..."

"Ms. Grey, Charles, please excuse me—" a new voice spoke. Female, Scottish, professional, but friendly, Duncan observed. "—but I think our patient is gaining consciousness. I must ask you to leave the room for now. You may talk in my office, if you wish, and I'll let you know when—"

"Of course, Moira," Xavier's understanding voice said. "Jean?"

Duncan heard a quick scraping sound: the legs of a wooden chair sliding against the tiled floor as its occupant stood up. He also heard the soft hum of an electric wheelchair. A door slid open, and then closed, announcing the departure of the two telepaths.

Finally, Duncan felt obliged to open his eyes, and found a lovely woman dressed in a lab coat observing him. She looked to be in her early forties, and though she seemed to usually carry a professional demeanor, she wore a welcoming face.

"So, Mr. Matthews, how are you feeling?"

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There was something going on.

But Duncan Matthews was out of the circle, and it was so much easier to just believe what he had been told. He grimaced as he remembered his conversation with Dr. Moira MacTaggart an hour before. She had told him that he did not suffer any burns from the explosion, although the force was enough to throw him a long distance. The impact cost him a fractured left arm and a concussion. Other than that, he was fine.

Incredible.

But impossible.

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"_No burns?" he asked disbelievingly. He ignored his left arm that was currently now in a cast, but instead hastily examined his right arm… and there it was: pale Caucasian skin with no traces of any burns. Then, he ran his right hand across the smooth skin on his face. Relief swept through him._

"_Miss Grey must have protected you from the blast."_

_Duncan nodded, still in shock._

"_If you wish to change from the standard hospital gown that you wear now, your clothes are right here." She gestured to a wooden cushioned chair. "I'll leave you to rest," she said, before leaving him alone in his room._

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_I'll have to remember to thank Jean for saving my life._

Shaking his head slightly, he finally allowed himself to observe the hospital room that he had been staying in. The place was big, and circular. It had a high ceiling, and it seemed to Duncan that everything –the walls, the floor, and the door- was made of metal -except for the two wooden chairs: one that Jean had been sitting on hours before, and the one with his clothes on it. Those were located to his right, and a few feet further was the door.

A hospital curtain blocked the view to his left. With a sigh, he slid off the bed but almost yelped when his bare feet stepped on the cold floor.

He waited a few moments for the soles of his feet to get accustomed to the low temperature before continuing on towards the curtains. He pushed them aside—

"My God…"

The sight before him took his breath away. Instead of a wall, there stood a glass window, and through it, stood Earth.

It was magnificent, awe-inspiring, beautiful. Blue oceans covered most of it, with streaks and swirls of white clouds adorning it. Brown land formed the shape of the Americas, and Duncan could not help but walk towards it.

He gulped as he pressed a hand against the cold glass.

He was in space.

So the rumors _were_ true.

Erik Lensherr, the mutant also known as Magneto, had built a fortress, a sanctuary, a haven for his people. And Duncan Matthews, a Friend of Humanity, was stuck inside of it. Asteroid M, as they had called it, accompanied the moon as it slowly orbited the earth.

The sight of earth underneath him…

He had expected to feel powerful, like a god watching over unsuspecting humans. Like a kid with a magnifying glass playing with defenseless ants. But instead the view humbled him. He felt so small. So painfully small.

If he had died in that explosion, life would have gone on without him. It would not have mattered. All his aspirations with his career, the risks he took for the Friends of Humanity… they all meant nothing. He had been living a worthless life.

The hand that was placed flat on the glass curled into a fist.

_Life goes on_, his mind repeated cruelly.

His parents probably haven't even noticed that he was gone. His team will probably notice that he had disappeared, but then what? Jackson would probably be promoted, and Smith would hand them a rookie as his replacement.

He had been abducted and blasted off into space by the very people he had sworn to pursue, apprehend, kill. And he was nursed into full health…

By the very people he had sworn to pursue, apprehend, kill.

But that wasn't what bothered him.

That was not the constant itch at the back of his mind that refused to disappear.

The mere idea of being expendable, unessential… He was nobody.

_No one would care. No one would care!_

The sentence repeated.

A malicious thought. Poison in his mind. Anger built up within him. His heart began beating faster, his pulse got quicker as resentment pushed his blood flow violently.

No one would care…

'_I would.'_

Duncan released his clenched fist, but refused to turn and face her. She had spoken clearly in his mind, but not only that, the words she sent him were clouded with emotion.

"It's true," she said softly, "you're my friend. I love you."

A small smile played at his lips. But it was rueful.

"No, you don't love me." He faced her at last. "You only say that because you are indebted to me. A big win for the mutants, Jean. You've got Xavier back. But because of you, my future is no longer clear to me. Everything I have worked for in the last five years has amounted to nothing."

At this, Jean bit her lower lip, and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. She was waiting for him to finish, he realized. In an instant, Duncan regretted his words, but he forced himself to be strong. He hated this woman in front of him. He hated how she had power over his emotions. He hated… hated… he repeated the words in his thoughts, determined to plant them in his brain.

"Tell me something," he continued, choosing his words carefully. "Tell me why I helped you. Tell me why I chose to abandon everything I ever knew. How did I get from being a Friend of Humanity to becoming a… a hero for the mutants? I mean, I must be going crazy! I am standing here in front of you on top of a fucking asteroid!" His voice had risen, but he had to keep going. He had to…

He shook his head. "I really hope you have answers, Jean, because I sure as hell don't."

Jean didn't wait a second longer as she rushed up to him, and wrapped her arms around his neck. She hugged him tightly for as long as it took for him to finally break down, and release the tears that he had refused to let go. The slow passing minutes turned into an illusion of hours.

He found himself seated on the cold floor, leaning back against the glass. Jean sat with him, their fingers gently entwined.

"Don't tell Summers I cried like a baby."

Jean smiled. "Who cried like a baby?"

"Thanks."

Suddenly, Jean squeezed his hand too tightly, too comfortingly, and Duncan froze. Instinct told him that something was wrong. "What is it?"

"There's something I have to tell you…"

Duncan raised his head to look at the beautiful redhead beside him. She wore an uneasy smile on her face, scarlet strands hung loosely against her cheeks. He said nothing.

"I am not exactly sure how to say this..." she continued, stalling. "You know, Dr. MacTaggart didn't tell you the whole truth about how you survived the explosion from that night."

Duncan frowned. "What are you talking about? You saved me. You used your telekinetic powers to protect me. Y-you formed a sort of bubble around me and that prevented me from getting…"

His words trailed off as he turned his attention down at his hands that lay on his lap. Jean's soft hand covered them, but it felt cold. He waited for her to speak again, but when it did not look like she would continue, he finally begged. "Please, just tell me. What is it? What's wrong?"

She took a deep breath, captured his green eyes with her own, and parted her red lips.

Time slowed as her lips moved, his mind barely registering her words as they reached his ears.

But he understood.

He understood her perfectly.

"Duncan..." she whispered, "you're a mutant."

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And behind the glass that separated them from cold dark space, the green earth continued to turn, as nature resumed its cycle… and life went on.

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The End.


End file.
